The Fatal Wound
by rantandrumour
Summary: The constant lap of waves, a darkness that cannot be conquered, terrifying dreams and an overwhelming loneliness. Is there any way to overcome the horror of the world around her? More importantly, does she want to?
1. The Crisis

**I just want to assert that the title of this fic is not literal. It's a metaphorical title for what's going on. If in five or so chapters, you need me to explain why, PM me. All chapter titles come from the song 'The Fatal Wound' by Switchfoot.**

**Chapter One: The Crisis**

All around her was darkness. It was a suffocating blackness that filled her very soul with anguish. She shifted uncomfortably on the hard floor of the boat, adjusting herself into a more comfortable position. She had no idea how long she had been there, changing positions, no idea how long she had been without sight or the ability to speak. She had no idea of how long it had been since she last ate or drank anything, or the last time she had heard anything other than the quiet lapping of the Thames on the boat.

All she knew was that it had felt like years and that she no longer cared. She actually hoped now not to be found. Too long she had spent on this boat, and she had had no choice but to soil herself when the pressure in her abdomen became too great. If anyone found her now, she'd be weary and half-starved, covered in her own piss and shit. And she didn't want to be found like that.

She resented the men who had put her here, but firmly kept their faces out of her memory. Some things were better not to remember.

The lapping of the water on the boat had long ago driven her mad. She loathed the sound with a furious passion, angry at the fact that something that had she had once loved, she now couldn't stand. She hated that the gentle sound of the water proved second after second that she was still alive, and she wished that it would finally quiet.

Pain radiated suddenly through her shoulder, and she cursed silently. Another reminder of the non-life she was living. She knew that the bullet was still inside her shoulder. The men who had left her here hadn't dug it out. They had hoped it would kill her. But it was high, far too high to cause any major damage and instead embedded itself right next to her shoulder blade.

When the men had come back, they had been disappointed. They knew that there was a substantial chance that she would survive, and they had come armed with food and water.

She had tried to scream when they removed the gag.

They had beaten her senseless in reply.

They had then sat next to her, talking and laughing while she slowly regained consciousness, unable to realise when she opened her eyes because of the blackness from the blindfold.

They had made her make promises, and then she had gotten food.

But instead of fulfilling their promise, they had left her handcuffed to a pole on the lower deck of the barge, just like the first time they had left her. However, soon after they left that second time, she felt the boat moving.

That's when she realised. They weren't worried about her telling anyone. They were giving her a last meal. All her promises had been in vain.

What could have been hours, days or weeks later, she felt the boat scrape against sand as it hit the shore of the Thames. She knew that this would increase her chances of being found, but she did not care. She knew it could still be weeks before someone decided to look below decks.

For now the water still lapped persistently against the side still in water.

She sighed, leaning against the wall that she was handcuffed to. Her brain was growing hazy from the lack of food and water. She knew it was going to be over soon. She was certain that the wound in her shoulder was festering into a full blown infection, and if the lack of hydration didn't kill her first, the infection would.

And that was the only thought that would calm her. It was going to be over soon. Her miserable existence would be finished.

Suddenly, she was dreaming. She knew it was a dream because she could see. This was the only place that the blackness did not suffocate her. But it didn't matter, because she couldn't even escape the hell when she was dreaming. She could only dream about what had gotten her into this position, from the step out of the office to being handcuffed to this boat. She had no life before that step. She would have no life after the boat. She knew that now. Because when they found her, she would most likely be a pile of bones, the handcuffs hanging neatly where her hands had once been bound.

She saw herself promising the men again, hopeful that her life would be safe then. And then she watched the faceless men walk out, somehow able to see them in her dreams, although when it had actually occurred she had been blinded.

She relived the despair as the boat started to float on the river, sobbing uselessly against the pole to which her hands were cuffed. She couldn't even remove her blindfold or gag. The men had tied them too tightly around her head. It had been giving her a headache for God only knew how long.

The blackness suffocated her again, and she knew she was awake.

A drip of water fell on her face from above. She raised her head, letting her gag catch the water, listening as the rain pattered gently on the sides of the boat, accompanying the quiet slap of the current against the boat. The only time she was able to drink was when it rained, and even then, it was the smallest of mouthfuls of water that she was able to suck from the gag after it had made it from the top of the boat down to the lowest level. The tiny mouthfuls did nothing to quench the fiery thirst that had settled within her, making her mouth dry and her tongue swell and crack. It felt like she was constantly trying to swallow sandpaper.

She sighed as the drips stopped, lying her head against the side of the barge. Her thirst was nowhere near quenched, but she was used to that fact by now. She knew that it would never be quenched again.

The constant lick of the light waves continued.

Her anger grew, listening to the water. She had become so angry, but there was no one to take it out on. So it sat within her, like a dull fire, until it had changed her inside. If anyone found her, those that knew her before would no longer know her.

That is, if she knew anyone before. Her life had been broken into two very separate pieces. One was before she had walked out of that office, and the other started with that first step. She severely doubted that anyone from before was even looking for her. Why would they? She wasn't important to anyone. She never had been.

The thoughts had circled in her head for days, months, years it seemed while she had been kept hostage. If she was not dreaming, she was thinking and that was as torturous as listening to the water lap against the sides of her prison.

Again and again the loop repeated itself until she was once more dreaming. The dream repeated itself over and over until the blackness took over once more. She wanted to cry at the never ending cycle, but now, she could no longer find it within herself to care. She was on the edge of death now. She knew it. A few more hours in her prison and then the second piece of her life would be over and she'd be forgotten to the passage of time.

But for now, she was still alive. Her body was still clinging to the life she no longer desired. She cursed it silently, begging the god she didn't believe in for it all to stop. For those few hours she had left to be over once and for all, or if she must stay alive for those few more hours, to spend it in her dreams. Although her dreams were dark and terrifying, staying within those would be preferable than staying away in the never ending, suffocating, and heavy darkness that surrounded her. At least then, she wouldn't have to hear those damn waves against the boat.

She sighed miserably through her nose, wishing she could stand, but she no longer had the strength. She'd just fall down right away.

She set her head against the side of the boat instead, listening to the infuriating sound of water on metal.

But then, there was a sound she wasn't used to. Her ears, so used to the soft burble of the water on the boat, immediately heard the sound of footsteps. They crunched on the stones and sand, so harsh and foreign to the sounds her ears were accustomed to. She couldn't help it; she winced at the sound.

She jumped when one of the people outside the boat spoke.

"Don't see why it's our duty. Shouldn't River Police do this sort of crap?"

No one answered the voice, and he continued to rant angrily at whomever the unfortunate soul was that was with him.

And then she heard the sound that she never expected to hear. The sound of those footsteps from the beach getting onto the upper deck of the boat.

Her heart started racing. Was it possible? Had someone finally found her?

She panicked. She was not supposed to be found. She was supposed to end her life here on this miserable barge. She knew that she couldn't prevent them from finding her, but she could do her best to avoid it.

She rested her head against the wall, holding herself still and quieting her breathing so that even she could hardly hear it.

More footsteps joined the heavy ones up above her. She guessed that at least three people were on the boat above her. They walked around the upper deck, talking amongst each other. She took in none of their conversation. None of their words mattered to her. She was convinced that they would not, that they could not find her.

She was convinced of this until the footsteps started down the steps to go to the lowest deck, the one that she was imprisoned on.

The footsteps changed as the person stepped off the ladder onto the bottom of the boat. She heard him murmur to himself, and though she could probably make out the words, she didn't want to try.

"We need an ambulance," the man said, and she heard radio chatter in reply.

Police. Police had found her. She supposed if she tried, she would recognise the voice, but she didn't want to bother. She didn't want to be found.

"What's going on?" asked a second voice from up above her.

"I think I've found her," the man said, and footsteps started to approach.

"Bloody hell," a third man said.

She felt the gag fall from her dry mouth, tumbling onto her lap. She was more acutely aware than ever of the stench that she had caused, the shame that she had felt causing it.

The blindfold fell from her eyes, and she blinked. The only light was torchlight, but even that was bright. The torch was pointing away from her and she blinked, her eyes very slowly adjusting to the dim light.

The man was staring at her in disbelief, the blindfold still held in his hands. He stared at her in worry, his eyes glittering in the low light.

She stared at him, trying to learn his features.

The tiniest of smiles crossed her face wearily, barely able to be called a smile.

"I know your face," she tried to murmur, but no sound came out. She wanted to touch the man's face, but even if her arms hadn't have been handcuffed, she would not be able to move them.

He stared at her, almost looking scared. It was an emotion she had never seen him express before.

"Alex," he said quietly, his voice filled with concern. "Are you okay?"

She looked at him curiously, cocking her head to the side. She tried to speak again, and her voice sounded, so hoarse it was barely audible. "Who's Alex?" she asked the man.

And then she felt like she was falling, down, deep into the land of her dark, twisted, and miserable dreams.

**There's an Ashes tribute vid on youtube to the song this fic is named after: just stick the normal youtube url before it.**

** /watch?v=Tw0eEq-pIxo**

**Also, I'd apologise for the darkness but i love it too much..**


	2. No Easy Now

**Chapter Two: No Easy Now**

When she opened her eyes, she was immensely confused. If she was dreaming, why was it not about the night when her life had been broken?

And if she was awake, then why was there no suffocating darkness surrounding her? Why was she lying down, her hands free? She had no idea what was going on, and that was a fact that terrified her. At least in her prison, she knew what to expect. The endless loop of dreams, the endless loop of thoughts, that was easy. This place she had opened her eyes to, with the stark sheets, the bright lights, the quiet chatter; that was difficult.

She couldn't help herself; she pinched her leg to make sure she was awake. She couldn't really feel anything though; her whole body felt slightly numb. Well that solved it then. Her loop of dreams had finally changed, or she was dead. Either way, she should explore this new fantasy, shouldn't she?

She moved her arms, getting ready to sit up, when her shoulder twinged. It wasn't painful, but it wasn't comfortable either. She frowned, looking at her shoulder, puzzled when she found a white bandage underneath a smock she most certainly hadn't been wearing on the night her life was broken.

She sat up, looking at herself underneath the smock. She felt uncomfortable with the fact that she didn't even have knickers on, but she was more transfixed by the dark purple bruises that covered her torso. She looked above the smock, at her arms. Deep red welts were around her wrists, and there was a drip attached to her arm.

There was the sound of heavy footsteps and then someone stepped into her room. She recognised the person; he was the man who had rescued her from the boat. He was tall and blonde, and his eyes were the most interesting shade of silver blue. She was certain that she'd seen this man before, but she didn't know from where.

"You're awake," he said, the relief only barely heard in his voice.

She stared at him uncertainly before nodding.

"How are you feeling?" he asked, settling down in a chair next to the bed she was in.

"Fine," she replied, her voice still hoarse. "But I suppose I would do. I'm making this all up."

"What are you talking about?"

"Clearly I'm dreaming," she replied. "If I were awake, I wouldn't be able to see."

"That was the blindfold, you daft mare," the man replied. "We found you just before you passed out. Remember?"

She was unconvinced that being found wasn't part of her dream as well, but nodded just to placate the man.

"If you say so," she said distractedly, as her stomach growled. "God, I'm hungry."

"They've got you hooked up to some nutrition," the man said, pointing to a bag. "And they've been putting so many fluids in you I'm surprised you haven't pissed yourself."

That stopped her thought process in its tracks.

Suddenly she was back in the blackness, hungry, thirsty, and only to smell her own stench. She felt so disgusting, so vile. The tears started building in her eyes, but then, another sound brought her back to the room in which the man sat.

A nurse was walking in the room. The nurse had a look of surprise cross her face before she regained her composure and continued to walk around the room, taking her temperature, blood pressure and heart rate.

"Are you having any pain?" the nurse asked.

She shook her head, and the nurse walked out of the room, stating that she would be back shortly.

The man was staring at her, and she looked at him. "What?" she asked, slightly rude.

He frowned at her, seeming to be puzzled by her behaviour, but then spoke anyway.

"We need to know what happened to you."

"What do you mean?"

The man's frown increased. "We need to know how you ended up on the boat."

The men's faces flashed into her head for a moment but disappeared so quickly that she hardly remembered it. Finally she answered him.

"I don't know."

"You don't know how you ended up on the boat?" he asked disbelievingly.

She shook her head. "I've always been on the boat."

"No you haven't."

"For as long as I can remember," she replied. "It felt like forever," she added in a whisper.

The man started to look concerned. "Can you tell me who shot you?"

She frowned. "I wasn't shot."

"What do you mean you weren't shot? You came to hospital with a bullet in your shoulder."

"I did?" she was starting to grow worried. Any memories she had had of the night her life had been broken were quickly disappearing. She remembered a step out of an office building, and then she was on the boat. The men fed her and then the boat was moving. And then the eternity had started.

"You've got a bloody bandage on your shoulder, woman!"

She looked down at her shoulder. "So that's why my shoulder hurts," she murmured.

The man just stared at her. "Do you know who beat you?"

She stared at him. "Is that why I have the bruises?" she asked.

"Alex..." the man said.

"Who's Alex?" she asked, cutting him off.

She saw panic flit momentarily across his face before it regained its serious composure. "You're Alex," he replied seriously.

She shook her head. "No I'm not."

The man frowned. "What do you mean your name isn't Alex?"

"That's not my name," she reiterated.

"Then what is your name?" he asked, but he sounded frustrated. As though by asking these questions, he was humouring her.

"I don't know."

"You don't know your name?"

"I know it's not Alex," she replied heatedly.

"I'll be right back," he said, his voice betraying nothing.

She watched him leave the room, sinking back into the pillows of the bed, studying the bruises on her arms. She was suddenly getting scared. What had she forgotten that she had remembered on the boat? Was there something wrong with her? And who was the man that seemed to think she was Alex?

A few minutes later, he was back, doctors in tow. The doctor smiled at her, but she found it fake. She was nothing to him, just another patient.

He looked at his clipboard and then to the man for a moment before talking to her. "I'm just going to ask you some questions, okay?"

She looked at him warily before nodding slowly.

"Can you tell me your name?"

She thought. She thought really hard. But the only thing that was popping up in her head was that name the man kept calling her, a name she _knew_ wasn't hers. Finally she shook her head no.

"Do you think it could be Alex?" the doctor asked gently. "Does that sound familiar?"

"It's not Alex," she said adamantly.

"Why don't you think it's Alex?"

"I don't _think_ it's not Alex," she said, irritated. "I _know_ it isn't Alex."

"Then what is your name?"

She looked helplessly between the two men, feeling despair starting to wash over her. "I don't know," she whispered, feeling a lump forming in her throat.

The doctor patted her on the shoulder. "It's okay," he reassured her. "We'll figure out what you're supposed to be called. For now, is it okay if we call you Alex?"

She shook her head furiously. She didn't know why, but there was something about the name that made her not want to associate with it at all.

"If you don't want to be called that, then what name would you like?" the doctor asked.

She shook her head. "I don't know. I don't know any names."

"We'll think of one for you," the doctor said, scribbling a note on his note pad.

She smiled gratefully at him.

"Now, I've got another few questions for you," the doctor said.

She looked at him, wondering what else he wanted to ask her.

"Do you know where you are?"

"Hospital?" she said, unsure.

The doctor smiled and nodded, scribbling another note as he told her the name of the hospital she was in.

"One last question. Do you know what month we're in?"

She shook her head miserably.

"Year?"

Another head shake. The man was looking at her in concern.

The doctor smiled and thanked her for her time, walking out of the room, followed closely by the man, who had been looking more and more concerned with each question.

She turned onto her side, feeling pain in her stomach as she pulled her legs up to her chest miserably. The doctor asking those questions had just made it evident how little she knew. She didn't know who she was. She didn't know anyone was, and the man seemed to know her.

That small fact terrified her. This man must have known her before the night her life had been broken. He knew the woman that had she had used to be. Even if he couldn't remember her name properly, he had known her Before. And that was the most terrifying thing imaginable.

She heard the man come back in the room, but she pretended to be asleep. She didn't know if she could handle the man now. If she did talk to him, she would have to be wary. He would know things. And she wasn't sure if she should know those things that he did.

Eventually, she did fall asleep, back into the dreams that had circled in her head when she was on the boat. As she woke up, she realised that the resumption of those dreams meant the hospital was reality. She was no longer in the blackness.

And that scared her most of all.

When she was in the darkness, she knew what she was going to expect. She may have hated it, but she knew what was around the corner. But now, she had no idea what was coming, but she had to face it with the memories of the stifling blackness of the boat.

She didn't want to face it. She didn't want the memories. That was part of the reason that she didn't want to be found. Dead, she'd never have to face the memories. Alive, they were all going to haunt her. But with the way her memory was going, she didn't have much to remember. Just the stifling blackness, the infuriating lap of water on metal, the never ending fire of her thirst, and the smell of her own degradation. But those memories were the worst, and she wished she had forgotten them instead of the shooting, the beating. Those were memories that were easier to deal with, but the ones she had...

The man was still there, and the lights hadn't changed, so she must not have slept long. She wished the man would go away so she could cry properly, but he seemed inclined to stay. She heard the rustling of a newspaper as it was unfolded.

She sighed, pulling the hospital linen over her head, hearing the paper rattle as he looked at her.

"You awake?" he asked gruffly.

She sighed, pulling the linen down from over her head and looked at him. She nodded sadly.

"Don't need to look so glum about it!" he said.

"I was going to die," she said softly.

"You were barely there when we found you. A few more hours and you would have been beyond help."

She noticed how he seemed to get more closed off as he talked about the possibility of her death.

"I don't remember anything before the boat," she admitted quietly to him. She didn't quite trust him, but he was the only one here to talk to.

"Nothing?"

She shook her head. "Nothing."

"Do you remember me?"

"Your face," she said softly. "That's it."

This news hurt him, she could tell. He didn't say anything.

"So..." she murmured. "Who are you? Why do I know you?"

He looked at her sadly. "I'm Gene. I'm your boss."

"What did I do?"

"You're a police officer."

"_...shot a bloody copper!"_

The memory came back suddenly and she nearly jumped, but she banished the memory before she could dwell on it.

"I wasn't a copper," she said adamantly.

"What?" Gene asked, confused at her suddenly declaration. "Alex..."

She shook her head, furious. "No. My name's not Alex. I wasn't a police officer. If you don't know who I am, get out. I don't want to see you again."

"Bolly!" he said, almost desperate.

The name struck a chord in her, calmed her slightly, but she ignored it. She was scared of him. She didn't trust him. She wanted him out of her room.

"Get out!" she screamed, throwing anything she could reach across the room.

A nurse came in to see what all the noise was and had to duck as the dinner that had been delivered when she was asleep flew above her head. The nurse disappeared, only to come back a few minutes later with a needle.

The woman stuck it into her arm. The medication started to take effect immediately, and she fell back against the pillows as Gene stared on silently.

"_Out,"_ she slurred, her eyes growing too heavy. She saw him get up before her eyes closed and she fell into the first dreamless sleep she'd had in what seemed like an eternity.


	3. The Real Thing

**The reception on this fic has been really bad, so I think this will be the last update guys. Sorry. **

**Chapter Three: The Real Thing**

She stared darkly at the sheet of paper in her hands, not wanting to believe it. This had to be some sort of trick, set up by the man from Before. He had only been back to visit once, and when he called her 'Alex' again, she had told him in no uncertain terms to get out and not come back. Even though he had not been in to visit her, she had seen him in the corridors outside the ward. This had made her angrier, but the nurse said that they could not stop him from visiting the hospital.

She had grudgingly accepted this explanation, but if she saw him looking into her ward, she would fix him with a glare until he walked away.

Then, yesterday, two men had sat next to her bed, accompanied by a doctor. One was a brown haired man with blonde highlights, and the other had a truly terrible perm and large moustache.

"Since we don't know what your name is, they're going to fingerprint you," the doctor had told her.

"I don't want to be fingerprinted," she had replied.

"This is the only way we can find out who you are," said the man with the perm. She had glared at the two men and the doctor for a moment before finally consenting and giving her hand to them. They had rolled her fingers in the ink, putting them on the paper, before giving her a rag to clean them off.

This morning, they had brought in the paper for her, along with a photo and a file. She glared at them.

"You knew," she said, feeling somewhat betrayed. "You knew how this would turn out."

The man with the perm nodded. "We've known you for years, Alex."

She shook her head. "You're just lying because the other man told you to."

The permed man turned to his companion, puzzled. "You mean Chris? He didn't tell me to do this, Alex."

"Stop calling me that!" she said vehemently. "I wasn't talking about_ Chris,_" she said, spitting the man's name out. "I was talking about the other one. The blonde one."

"The Guv?" Chris said.

She shook her head again. "The one who called himself Gene."

Both the man with the perm and Chris frowned. "The Guv is Gene, Alex."

"Well, how would you expect me to know that?" she asked rudely. She didn't like these men. Their faces were familiar, which meant that they were from Before. She didn't want to be around anyone from Before. The psychologist that had seen her said that it was a good thing for her to be around people from Before. It might bring back memories. But what the psychologist didn't realise was that she didn't want to remember anything. It was better that way. Even now, the memories of the boat had faded to the gentle burble of water against metal and the fiery thirst in her throat. Soon, she could block those out and she could once more be happy.

But there was this paper to consider. Although half of her thought that they just copied the set they had taken yesterday, there was a part of her that knew deep down that this was real.

"I can't be her," she whispered softly, forgetting the men in the room. "I'm not a copper. I can't be her."

The tears started to burn in her eyes.

"_...shot a bloody copper! I'll go down for..."_

She banished the voice out of her memory as the blonde man walked into the room. She took all the worry and fear she felt from the memory and turned it into hatred towards 'Guv Gene.'

"You," she said, seething.

"Shut your trap," he said rudely to her. "Raymondo, WonderChris, out."

They scurried out and he sat next to her bed, glaring at her. "Listen, Mrs. Woman. Here's the fact of the matter. If you don't accept your identity, they'll put you in the nuthouse with all the other Looney Tunes. Your other option is to accept that you are Alex Drake. You'll come to live with me until you get your memory back. I've got a spare room for you."

He stared at her, looking triumphant, as though her choice was easy. She knew that he expected that she would immediately decide to go with him, to do anything to avoid 'the nuthouse' as he so eloquently put it. She didn't want to go there. But at the same time, her other option wasn't looking that great either. She shuddered at the idea of spending a lot of time with Guv Gene, living with him. That was a horrible thought. The only question in her mind would be which was worse. Somehow she knew that if she went to 'the nuthouse' she would be locked in. It would be like The Eternity all over again, except there would be no suffocating blackness. But if she went with Guv Gene, what would it be like?

For one, she knew, he would insist on calling her Alex, no matter how much she protested. He might make her try to police. And if she agreed to go with him, his ego would swell. He would feel like he had won. In the end, it all came down to a question of Eternity verses Ego.

She looked from the paper to him, considering for a moment before speaking finally. "I'll go with you," she said finally, "on two conditions."

"You're not really in the position to make conditions here."

"No, but I have a feeling you won't like to see me carted away with all the other 'Looney Tunes."

She could see that she had struck the nail on the head with that comment. He crossed his arms. "What are your conditions?" he asked, peering at her with narrowed eyes.

"I'm not going by Alex. I'm going by my full name. Alexandra."

"You expect me to get that bloody mouthful out every time I want to address you?"

She nodded curtly. "And the second is that you don't take me to the police station with you. Maybe I was a police officer Before, but I have no interest in being anywhere near a station now."

Guv Gene glared at her for a moment before murmuring "Bloody irritating women" to himself.

"Fine, _Alexandra,_" he said, mocking her name. "No police station for you."

"Good," she said, feeling like she'd won. "When am I getting out?"

"Soon," he replied. "The infection has cleared up in your shoulder. That and the memory thing was keeping you here. You're still seeing the psychologist after you leave though. We want you to get those memories back. Do you want me to leave now?"

She nodded, lying back against her pillows as he walked out of the room. Why didn't anyone realise that she didn't want her memories back? No one seemed to care that she didn't want to be called Alex or that the mystery of what happened to her didn't really bother her at all. But she knew that no one would. That was how the world worked. She knew this from Before. She didn't know how she knew it, but she did.

She knew that if someone presented without a memory, everything was done so that they could recover it. And if they didn't, it was considered a shame. She, for one, hoped that she would fail to recover her memory, but she knew that Guv Gene would do everything he could to try and make her remember. He was going to present her with everything she should know from Before until finally, memories triggered.

She was still unconvinced that they hadn't faked the fingerprints, but she felt better by going as Alexandra. She still didn't like the name, but she didn't have the total hatred of the name like she did for the name 'Alex.' And if Guv Gene didn't call her Alexandra, then she just wouldn't acknowledge him. She smiled as her eyes grew heavy and the loop of dreams started. She'd be in control. She would always be in control.

A few days later, huddled in the passenger seat of Guv Gene's car, she felt anything but in control. She was terrified. He had at least kept calling her Alexandra, but she felt the uncertainty in his voice when he called her that, and half the time the 'andra' was an afterthought. He seemed as unsure with her as she was with him and it was tensely silent in the car on the way to his home.

"Thought about taking you back to your old flat, but since you don't want to go near the station I thought it was better to come here," he said gruffly as he parked in front of a nice house. He grabbed a hold-all filled with clothes that Alex had apparently worn.

Alexandra wasn't sure how she felt about this. Although she was apparently 'Alex' in the before, she wasn't Alex now. She still seriously doubted that she was Alex in the before, but she had to keep up the pretence of believing it or Guv Gene would have her sent to 'the nuthouse' and her Eternity would start all over again.

Guv Gene led her into the house and she followed him up to a room. There was a bed in the room, made neatly, like a military man might do. A bedside table sat beside it and a wardrobe was in the corner.

"This is your room," he said, quite unnecessarily. "Bathroom's just next to your room. Mine's upstairs, right above yours."

She nodded as he set the holdall on the bed and stood awkwardly. "Do you er...want some tea or something?"

Alexandra nodded. "Sure."

They walked downstairs to the kitchen where Guv Gene got out the tea things and started to boil water for tea. "One sugar," he said to her, more of a statement than a question. As though he was used to her tea order and making it all the time.

Alexandra shook her head. "No. Just black for me."

Guv Gene turned and frowned at her. "No milk either?"

"I don't like milk in my tea," she stated softly.

Guv Gene merely shrugged and turned back to making the tea. He was focusing far too much on it, she knew, to deal with the awkwardness of her not saying anything.

"So...when do you work again?" she asked, trying to make polite conversation.

"I'm going to check in on them this afternoon," he said, relieved to be able to speak about anything. "Ray is running things and they're probably all falling apart."

"Why did you leave him in charge then?"

"He's DI," Guv Gene said. "Usually if I went out, I'd leave you in charge, but you aren't there."

Alexandra bit her lip. She wanted to say that no, he wouldn't leave her in charge because she'd never been a police officer, but then he might try and send her to 'the nuthouse.' So she just nodded, stirring her tea intensely.

"This is the most time we've been in each other's company since I woke up in hospital," Alexandra said finally.

"You told me you wanted me out. I thought I'd respect your wishes."

"You still came to hospital to check upon me."

Something resembling a smile appeared on Guv Gene's face. "I had to know how you were doing. And you wouldn't let me near you without screaming."

"You called me Alex," she said. "I don't like the name Alex."

"You were fine with it until a week ago."

"That was Before," Alexandra whispered, knowing he wouldn't understand what she meant.

"Before what?" Guv Gene asked. "Alex...Alexandra...what happened on the boat?"

Suddenly she was back on her prison, cuffed to a pole and unable to see anything. Her mouth and throat burned and all she could hear was the lap of water against the boat. She took a deep breath in – it was so hard to breathe in the stifling blackness – when aftershave caught in her nose.

That sent was enough to bring her out of her prison, back to the present, where Guv Gene was looking concerned.

She shook her head at him. "I don't know," she whispered. "I don't remember."

"What can you remember?"

Alexandra swallowed. She didn't want to face any of her memories. Instead of digging for memories, she pulled one off the forefront of her mind.

"I remember you. The torch was turned away from my face and you were looking at me. You looked scared. That's it."

Guv Gene looked disappointed. "That's all? Nothing before that?"

"Just water lapping on the boat."

Guv Gene looked defeated. "You know, if you remember anything, let me know immediately."

Alexandra raised an eyebrow before trying to smile at him. She knew it came out as a grimace.

"I'll do that," she promised, knowing the first thing she'd do if she had a memory would be to banish it immediately.

Guv Gene gave her something of a smile again. "Good. Now, do you need anything before I go to work?"

Alexandra shook her head.

"Right," Guv Gene said awkwardly. "I'll see you tonight. I might get a drink at Luigi's. Is that okay?"

"Get a drink wherever you want," Alexandra said, shrugging. "I'll watch telly or something."

Guv Gene nodded, looking hesitant, but finally left. Alexandra breathed a sigh of relief as the door closed behind him and began to explore her surroundings. She was going to be here for a while, but she'd never, ever, remember anything. Of that she was certain.


End file.
